


there's something for you in this century

by otherwords



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: If you're into that kind of thing., M/M, Some sad/romantic/hopeful drabble.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-05
Updated: 2015-04-05
Packaged: 2018-03-21 08:22:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3685071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/otherwords/pseuds/otherwords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony makes Steve breakfast. Tony has never made him feel unwelcome in the tower, but Steve can never shake the feeling that he's somehow intruding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	there's something for you in this century

Steve comes into the kitchen early. He's always been a light sleeper, and Stark Tower is constantly humming with activity, a low buzz that seems to permeate the walls. It's been a few months since the battle in New York, and he hasn't managed to sleep in yet. Usually he's alone in the mornings. He makes coffee and toast by himself, lets the burble of the coffee machine fill the kitchen while he reads or stares out the windows at this familiar unfamiliar place.

Today, though, he's not alone. Tony is already there, leaning one hipbone lazily against the oven as he stirs something on the stove. "Oh, hey, Cap," he says, flashing that sharp grin and standing up a little straighter. There are holes in the knees of his jeans and his hair is soft and messy. "What time is it?"

"'Bout six," answers Steve, at the same time as Jarvis supplies, "Five forty two AM, sir."

Tony nods his thanks and returns his gaze to the pot on the stove. "Want some breakfast?"

"What are you making?" asks Steve, sliding onto one of the stools at the kitchen counter, opposite of Tony. He's never seen Tony cook, in all the time he's been here.

"It's silly, I guess," says Tony, and his gaze goes back to Steve's face for a moment, like he's searching for something. "Something my mom used to make." He leaves the spoon in the pot and turns around, grabbing a mug from the cupboard. He pours a new cup of coffee for Steve and slides it across the counter. "You're up early."

Steve shrugs and takes the coffee gratefully. Coffee is the same as it's ever been. Coffee makes him feel like someone he can remember being. "I'm always up early."

Tony nods, snorts a laugh. "Me too, but the other direction." He pushes off from the counter again, and stars rustling around with things on the counter. It takes Steve a moment to realize he's making grilled cheese sandwiches. The butter sizzles in the pan, filling the kitchen with soft yellow warmth.

"When Howard was away for business, sometimes Maria would make me lunch, just the two of us. Tomato soup and grilled cheese. Always makes me think of her."

Steve nods, suddenly awkward. Tony has never made him feel unwelcome in the tower (in fact, he's barely seen Tony in the couple months he's stayed here), but he can never shake the feeling that he's somehow intruding. It's moments like these ones -- little reminders of how Howard turned out to be someone Steve didn't know at all, and how Tony paid the price for it -- that make him feel like a stranger in this house. He's still carrying around all these useless memories from before the ice.

"Hey," says Tony, sliding a plate across to him. He ladles out two bowls of soup and hands one to Steve. "Don't get that look on your face. You get -- guilty, I guess. I understand what Howard was to you."

"I'm not sure I do," says Steve quietly, picking up half of his sandwich. Cooking is something he's never really learned how to do. First there was the Depression, and then there was the war. He's used to eating out of necessity -- and sometimes not even then. It's really not surprising that Tony is a good cook. He's good at anything he can do with his hands. Steve is starting to think there's nothing mechanical he can't fix.

Tony slumps onto the stool next to Steve. He's eating pickles and ketchup with his sandwich, and he smells like solder and coffee.

"So," says Tony finally, "how ... are you?"

Steve looks over quickly. Tony's got one elbow on the counter, his cheek cradled in his palm. There are smudges of purple sleeplessness under his eyes, and he hasn't shaved in a few days. Without the suit (Iron Man or otherwise), without the flashing of the cameras and the boardrooms, he's just ... Tony. Open-faced and uncharacteristically earnest.

Something warm and longing uncurls hopefully in Steve's stomach, and he swallows hard to crush it. Tony isn't ... isn't what? Available? (He is. Steve understands that Tony and Pepper used to be together, but they haven't been for years, and there's still something sad and hollow between them.) Tony isn't what then? Available to Steve? Steve has been too much of a coward to quantify his answer to that question. (It isn't fair to Tony, the way Steve feels about him. He doesn't want Tony thinking this is some strange, unrequited torch he's been carrying for Howard for seventy years.)

Tony's question hangs unanswered in the air.  _How are you?_

_I'm fine, Tony. I don't understand anything about this century, the least of all you._

But none of that comes out. Instead, he just says, "Hungry."

Tony hides the quickest flash of disappointment with a laugh. He gestures to the other side of the counter. "All the stuff's still out. Go ahead and make more."

Steve gets up and skirts the counter. He's never made grilled cheese before, but it seems like something he can manage. In the past year alone, he has beheaded aliens with nothing but an archaic metal disk and the strength of his throw; he refuses to be defeated by sliced bread and a certain soft-eyed man watching him over the rim of his Stark Industries mug in the hazy half-light of the early morning filtering into the tower kitchen.

But grilled cheese is harder than it looks. He's got butter on one side of the bread, and now he can't figure out how to butter the other side without getting it all over his hand or the counter ...

"What are you doing?" asks Tony, and he's laughing in earnest now, his smile crinkling his eyes. "You don't butter both sides of the bread. Haven't you made these before?"

Something in Steve's expression -- some combination of defensive embarrassment and fear -- shifts Tony's expression into something soft and sad. "Here," he says, coming around the counter to join Steve. "Put that piece in the pan. Then put the cheese on it, and then the next piece of bread." He butters another slice and hands it to Steve. "Easy, see? Even my socialite mother could handle this. And if you need to practice, I'm perfectly willing to eat the rejects."

Tony watches the sandwich carefully, flips it. When it's done, he slides it onto Steve's plate. "This was nice," he says, going to the coffee machine. "Having someone here with me. Usually when I pull out the tomato soup it's ... this was just nice." He pours another cup, and turns to leave. "I'm gonna get back to work, then."

Steve nods, clutches his plate closer to his chest. "Thanks for breakfast, Tony."

"Mmhm. Anytime."

He leaves, and Steve is alone again. Always back to this. He puts the plate down next to his cooling coffee. He had just been getting used to this kitchen, the way it felt in the mornings all alone, and now it's empty all over again. He doesn't really want to stay here by himself to finish his food ...

There's a noise in the doorway, and he flips around to see Tony reappear. "I should have --" says Tony, coming back into the kitchen. "I should have --" He gestures uselessly with one hand, and steps closer, into Steve's space.

Steve sucks in a breath, feels everything slow down around him, the world reduced to Tony's warm eyes and the smell of butter and coffee in the air.

Tony leans up the few inches that separate them and presses a gentle kiss to Steve's lips.

"There's something for you in this century, okay?" he says, stepping back. "I hope you know that." And then he grabs his coffee back up again and disappears out the door.

Steve stands there for another moment, stunned and silent. Then he carefully cleans up the kitchen and heads back to his room, because he's tired and he feels like he might be able to sleep right now. He'll talk to Tony when he wakes up, and the tower feels a little less lonely at the thought.


End file.
